A Second Late
by youmakemehappywhenskiesaregrey
Summary: A child died in a fire before Clint could get to her and now he can't get it out of his head. Steve notices something's up and tries to find the words to say to help him.


**So when i asked for story suggestions on my story Learning to Fly because it's almost over I got a review asking for one where Clint loses someone on a mission and he and Steve get closer as friends. I don't know Who requested it because it was a Guest review but if whoever it was reads this, it's for you! I know it's not quite what was suggested but I hope it's close enough! **

**Thanks a bunch to Zeetha15 for telling me about the formatting error, I went back and fixed it. I hope all the corrections went through! **

It had been a disaster. Fires all across town. Arson. Stores on fire, apartments and warehouses. All blazing. The fire department had been stretched thin and there just weren't enough trucks for the amount of fires burning. The media had gone haywire too. Blame was everywhere. On the city for making cut backs, on the fire department for not managing to make it to each fire in time. On the police for not catching the arsonists, there was blame on the Avengers for not saving the day every time. The Dailyem Bugle was particularly vocal about their view. Through long columns taking stabs at the police and fire departments and thinly veiled remarks that Spider-Man was behind the fires, it got it's message across fairly quickly. What good were the Avengers if they couldn't even put out a few fires? Of course it was more than a few fires and they had been going on for weeks. No one had caught the Arsonists. The papers were having a field day. The freaking stores were out if fire extinguishers.  
For Clint it was personal. Painfully personal. He'd been running from fire to fire trying to evacuate buildings and it didn't matter how many people he saved because there was another fire across town that he couldn't do anything about and people there died.  
He'd almost punched a reporter who;d asked him where he'd been when an apartment had burned down. He told him he'd been across town evacuating an office building.  
And now as he ran out of a building, face covered in soot and an old woman clinging to him he wished he had punched the reporter. It would have served him right.  
"House is too unstable to go back in!" The man next to him shouted. Clint looked up at the windows and nodded as flames shattered the ones on the top floor.  
"Is everyone out?" He asked.  
People were taking count of their loved ones. He hoped they were done. He was getting an alert about another fire ten blocks away. He had to get to its soon.  
"My daughter's not here!" A woman cried.  
He turned to look at her. "What floor?"  
Fourth! Oh God, oh no. Oh God!' She cried, shaking badly.  
"I gotta go back in!" He yelled.  
The lone fireman they had shook his head. "House is going to collapse. You can't!"

Clint looked at the woman. "I gotta." He grabbed an oxygen tank and mask and made a run for it. The stairs hadn't yet collapsed, he was grateful for that. He hurried up them, feeling to wood shift a little. The structure was failing. He kicked open doors as he went, careful not to miss anyone else.  
On the third floor he cursed himself for not getting the room number. He went door to door, calling out. No one answered. The flames were burning him now. He'd worn special armor and a jacket for the fire but it wasn't enough. Black smoke was obstructing his vision. He had to hurry.  
A small coughing caught his attention from one of the doors behind him. He wheeled around and began hurrying from door to door. He heard it again and tore into the apartment. "Hello?"

He could feel the floor tremble. If he didn't hurry the structure would give way. He yelled louder and began searching rooms. He found a little girl's room and checked under the bed. The blankets were on fire, a piece of the ceiling had fallen on them and set them ablaze. Panicked he threw open the closet and there she was, curled up on the floor, arms over her head, unconscious. He scooped her up and hightailed it out. Somewhere on the stairs he realized she wasn't breathing and sped up "Oh God." He whispered, the stairs were coming loose from the wall. He grabbed the girl tighter and rushed, jumping as best he could down to a landing below. Second floor. He could make it. Suddenly the impact of his jump caused the landing to splinter and he crashed through the boards to the first floor, trying his best to shelter the girl.  
Somewhere in the haze of smoke and fire he managed to stand up. The door was close. With a painful effort he launched himself out into sunlight.  
The mother cried out happily and EMTs rushed foreword. He stood on the spot, dizzy from his fall and the heat. Someone was prying off his oxygen mask and handing him water. He could hear the EMTs.  
"No good." One of them said. "Not breathing. I- no pulse. Nothing." The mother began to sob. He choked a little, realizing that his fall had put a splinter of wood through his ankle. He stumbled away, not wanting to interfere with the woman's grief. He sat down in a makeshift ambulance nearby, watching.

The girl was dead but that didn't seem right. He had heard her cough. If he had only been a little faster getting down the stairs or in finding her she might have lived. He felt dizzy, he was breathing in the soot from his clothes. He tore open his coat and grabbed a bottle of water, rinsing his mouth with it. An EMT was attending to his ankle. She was staying something but he wasn't listening. There was a ringing in his ears. All week there had been fires and all week he had been running from one to the next but he'd managed to save everyone he'd touched. This time though. . . he'd failed. Something had been different. The EMT was saying something about taking him to the hospital. He said to take him to Avengers Tower. He could get better medical care there and anyway, the hospitals were backed up.  
The van drove him and let him out at the tower. He hobbled in and found help down to the med lab. All the while he felt numb. He wondered if the girl had still been alive when he'd picked her up. Wondered if he'd been carrying a dead child the whole way wondered what the girl's name had been. Her room had been pink and green. Bright spring colors. He felt sick to his stomach as he fixed his foot up.  
He thought about the mother and cursed himself totally for not being faster. For not thinking to ask for the room number. And then he thought about how small the girl had been. Maybe six? Christ that was young. He'd probably never even had her first kiss. Or if she had it hadn't been a real one. She'd never been on a date or had her heart broken. She'd never driven a car or gotten drunk. He couldn't help but feel awful that maybe if he had tried harder he could have saved her and even when a voice in his head told him he couldn't have it didn't make him feel better because a little girl had died and there was no changing that. He wiped his face irritably, and limped over to a shower. He had smoke and soot in his hair.  
In there he sat for a long time with cool water running over him. The heat of the fire was still on his skin and the stink of smoke and dust wouldn't leave his nose. He'd be blowing black snot for days. To make matters worse he was out of action. His foot would take a while to recover. It least three days before he'd try. Three days of being useless.  
He was painfully aware that he was one of the least powerful if not the least powerful person on the team. Now he was hurt and left alone with his thoughts. He thought again of the girl and punched the shower wall, bruising his hand and accomplishing nothing.  
Stepping out he tested his weight on his foot and sighed. It wasn't that bad but he would need to wait at least twenty-four hours. Then again, he wagered, he'd had worse and kept going and the city really needed him. He sighed and dressed again. The nearest fire was two miles away. Fairly close actually. He headed off, ignoring his throbbing foot. He had stitches in it but he thought as long as he didn't try and more big jumps he'd be fine.  
The building near by was an upscale restaurant. On arriving he found that it had already been cleared out and the fire was being doused. He headed off to where he was getting another fire report. This one was just a dumpster fire that some copycat had set. The guy was in cuffs and was getting an earful from a cop. Served him right. He could have killed someone and then as the thought crossed his mind, Clint thought horribly of the little girl and stepped wrong, putting too much pressure on his ankle. He grimaced and left. Across town he found another apartment fire mostly out. He felt useless. Other heroes had stepped in. Daredevil, the X-Men, even Doctor Strange who usually didn't want to be bothered unless magic was involved was siphoning off flames into another dimension.  
He felt utterly useless and couldn't shake the weight in his chest. He had failed miserably.  
He managed to be useful at one last fire before word came that the arsonists had been caught. After a few hours the city was finally at peace and the emDaily Bugle was now criticizing how long it had taken to catch the arsonists.  
Clint returned to the tower feeling dejected. He took another shower and examined his foot. He'd ripped out a stitch climbing some stairs but it was easy to fix and he did so with relative ease. Then he sat for a while, an empty feeling in his stomach. He could still feel the weight of the girl in his arms and it didn't make sense because people had died around him before. None of it made sense.  
"You okay?" A voice asked.  
He looked up. It was Steve. Soot covered and gray faced Steve. He sighed. "Yeah."  
Steve sat down next to him. "Are you sure? You seem pretty down.  
"I um. . . I missed one. A kid. I didn't get her in time."  
Steve nodded. "Oh." It was the polite thing to say.  
"I got to her and I don't know if I was too late or I just didn't get her out fast enough."  
Steve remained solemn faced. "Maybe the coroner's report will tell you."  
He shook his head. "Won't make any difference."  
"Don't beat yourself up about this. It's not your fault and if it makes you feel any better the arsonists are going to be tried for first degree murder. They'll get convicted. I spoke to Matt Murdock, he says there's enough evidence to put them away forever."  
"Won't change anything." Clint said bitterly.  
Steve nodded. "No, I guess not."  
Clint ran a hand through his hair agitattedly "You know the worst part? I know it's not my fault. I know it's not but it doesn't make me feel any better. She was just a kid and there was nothing I could do. I just feel bad."  
Steve sighed. "You're a good person for feeling bad. A lot of the time it's not personal for us. We save 'em and leave 'em. And we're sad when we don't but too often we forget them." Clint looked up at him. "I'm not saying we should get really invested but now and again, it's bound to happen."  
"I didn't even know her and I feel like I lost her. I keep thinking about how she had all this princess stuff in her room but she died hiding in a closet. I don't know why. . . I just can't stop thinking about how she's not gonna play with that stuff again, I mean she wouldn't anyway would she? I mean the place burned down so her stuff would have been alive but if I had been faster she might get some new toys. I mean, she might get a new princess doll or something."  
Steve smiled sadly. "Yeah she probably would have."  
"And I just keep thinking about this stuff even though I know it doesn't do me any good but I just can't stop, Cap. I just can't!"  
Steve put a hand on his shoulder. "Sometimes you can't. Maybe this'll be with you for a while."  
Clint sighed, he had gotten a little worked up. "Yeah, maybe. I mean I shouldn't want it to but when I think that I feel bad for wanting to forget her."  
"You don't want to forget her, you just don't want to feel bad. There's nothing wrong with that." Steve looked down. "Is your foot okay?"  
Clint shrugged like he hadn't noticed. "Oh, piece of wood went through it when I fell through the floor. Should have worn better boots. I dunno. I tore out a stitch too."  
Steve frowned. "If your foot was hurt you shouldn't have gone out."  
Clint hung his head. "I know but I couldn't sit around. I was going out of my mind!"  
"And you thought action would help?"  
"Something like that."  
"Did it?"  
"A little, I guess. I kept getting to fires after everything was taken care of. I felt useless."  
Steve smiled sadly. "It's a dirty feeling, feeling useless. Trust me. I can understand that."  
Clint nodded quietly. "I just. . . I can't get it out of me. And I shouldn't even feel this way, I mean I saw how her mother was crying. She's the one who should be feeling bad. Not me." He ran a hand through his hair. "I mean she was, I'm not saying she wasn't cause she was. I don't know. I guess I just don't know what I mean anymore."  
Steve helped him up. "You should use crutches for a day or too, looks like your foot is swelling. C'mon." He lead the way to a closet in the med lab and handed off a pair of crutches. Clint adjusted them to his height. "Can't tell you what. I don't know. I know you're gonna feel bad for a while but you'll get better. If you want action to keep your mind busy I'm here for you. Just let me know."  
Clint nodded. "Will do, Cap." He hobbled off to his room, desperate to lie down for a while.

When he awoke Clint was still down. He lay in the darkness of his room feeling heavy. In the black of night he could see the girl's room and he kept trying to picture what it had looked like without flames everywhere. What the bed had looked like without a piece of the ceiling on it. He hated himself for fixating. He couldn't stand it.  
He rolled out of bed and got to his feet, thinking a snack would help. His stomach was empty and yet he still felt full for some reason. Either way he thought food would help and it did a little. He sat in the kitchen with a sandwich, trying to think of something else. It was hard. His mind kept jumping back to the apartment. It ran over different scenarios and how he could have done things differently.  
Again the worst part was that he didn't really blame himself. He just couldn't think of anything else. He knee he had tried his best and done what he could. He had even been the one to go back in when everyone else thought it was too dangerous but he had tried. He had tried and it hadn't made any difference. He just couldn't shake it.  
Around two in the morning a light flicked on in the kitchen and he sat wincing. It was Steve.  
"I heard the fridge open."Steve said. They had only recently gotten him to stop calling it an ice box. The thought flashed through Clint's mind and he almost grinned. "I didn't hear anyone leave the kitchen." Steve went on. "Figured it was you."  
"Did you?"  
"Yeah, you seemed pretty upset earlier. Nothing wrong with that but I was worried."  
Clint smiled down at the table. "Thanks."  
Steve took a seat. "No problem. Did you get any sleep?"  
"Yeah, a little."  
"Well that's good at least."  
"Yeah."  
"You know, you're a good man and you did good today. I know you did."  
Clint rubbed his cheek, embarrassed but still glad to hear it. "Thanks."  
"I can't say I'm perfect at this but I can say that tomorrow you'll be back in action and you'll do great again. And that little girl, there's no making that better but at least someone tried to save her. Think of it that way. At least someone tried. You tried."  
Clint rubbed his face again, this time fighting tears.  
"You tried and that's what's important. Not just to me but I'm sure it was to her too and to her family."  
He shrugged. "I know."  
And Steve knew that, yes he did know. He sighed and smiled sadly. "We can't save them all. It's a dirty truth but it's the truth." They sat for a moment, Steve just sitting and trying to make Clint feel better. After a while he said: "Maybe someday things will get better." H could have said that the girl was in a better place, he believed that but he didn't because that sort of line was over used and he feared it not meaning anything. "Things will get better."  
Clint nodded and somehow even though he didn't feel like it he knew they would. Probably not the next day or even the one after it but he knew eventually they would. He knew that because he knew he would save someone again and that would be another life continuing and another life where someone could grow old.  
"If you don't want to go back to bed, that's fine." Steve said. "I'm not really tired either. How about a drink?"  
Clint nodded and Steve went to the fridge and pulled out a few beers. "Not expensive stuff. Yours?"  
"Yeah. I bought them a few days ago."  
Steve smiled and twisted the cap off of his. "It'll get better. I promise."  
They each took a drink and again Clint knew he was right. At the moment though things seemed pretty bleak and he was just glad that he wasn't alone.  
**Thanks so much for reading!**


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